


to carry within us an orchard

by nagdabbit



Series: A Treasury of Great Recipes [1]
Category: Stranger Things (TV 2016)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Restaurant, Banter, Billy Hargrove Nut to Death, Break Up, Developing Friendships, Drunken Shenanigans, Drunkenness, Gay Billy Hargrove, Gen, Lesbian Robin Buckley, Male-Female Friendship, Nicknames, The Adventures of Buckles & Billy Goat, bad descriptions of culinary school, d-r-i-n-k-i-n, these two dubasses sitting on a roof
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-21
Updated: 2020-08-21
Packaged: 2021-03-07 03:08:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,459
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26020060
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nagdabbit/pseuds/nagdabbit
Summary: She only really knew three concrete things about the mullet that was Billy Hargrove.First, that he was a smug piece of shit.Second, that he had the fastest knife skills Robin had ever seen. And he knew it, too.And third, that he was profoundly fucking damaged, and it made it hard to hate him. She managed, of course. While it was harder to hate him, it certainly wasn't impossible.A rooftop in the summer, two drunk idiots, the start of a friendship.A prequel/companion tolamp-bright rind
Relationships: Past Billy Hargrove/Original Male Character(s), Past Robin Buckley/Original Female Character(s), Robin Buckley & Billy Hargrove
Series: A Treasury of Great Recipes [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1884433
Comments: 16
Kudos: 74





	to carry within us an orchard

**Author's Note:**

> oh hay! look at me! lamp-bright rind is officially part of a series now! the title is taken from the only cookbook that i personally own, A Treasury of Great Recipes by Mary and Vincent Price.
> 
> i had put out the idea on [tumblr](https://nagdabbit.tumblr.com/post/624485504539344896/sooooooooooooo-i-got-a-question-for-anyone-reading) awhile back about doing a couple few fics from before the start of lamp-bright rind, and a lovely anon suggested billy and robin kickin' it back in the before times of culinary school. turns out, i have no idea how culinary school works, so i went with the drunken night i mentioned, in an earlier chapter, and just insult culinary school a lot. and iowa. sorry iowa.
> 
> i have a couple more ideas from this time period that i will probably add chapters to this fic if, and when, i get them written. i'm not gonna concentrate too much on them until after lbr is completed, though. 
> 
> ALSO, i haven't decided entirely yet what happened in the way before time of season one, but i'm not gonna do a rewrite. but barb survived and no one can stop me.
> 
> slight warning for Billy(TM). at one point he does try to intimidate robin in a way deliberately meant to be skeevy and threatening. another warning for mention of an injury he received in class due to being struck by a teacher (but it is kinda vague because it gets fleshed out in a future chapter of lbr). another slight warning for discussions on robin's breakup; i remembered my last breakup, blacked out and suddenly it was written. also, they play a mean prank of billy's ex, but the general consensus is that he probably deserves it.
> 
> title from From Blossoms by Li-Young Lee
> 
> <3

She slammed her way onto the rooftop with all the force she could muster, and took the full brunt of humid, summer heat right to the face. Her apartment wasn't any cooler, not with the window unit uselessly rattling the way it did. She was certain if she popped it open she'd find nothing but loose bits of wire, dust and a hamster wheel inside.

She supposed that was what she got for living alone in a city that big, with an apartment that cheap.

Outside the night sky was bright and orange with the city glow, the streets below loud with cars and people and sirens. It smelled more like _city_ than _summer_ \--not the kind she was used to, anyway. All exhaust and asphalt. Nothing like the barbeque smoke and fresh mown grass and all the sweet, jammy wild strawberries she could ask for.

She tilted her face toward the sky, tried to see stars, tried to pick out constellations, tried to pinpoint familiar sights so she didn't feel quite so small and alone. So she could ground herself, so she didn't feel so adrift and far from home.

It didn't work. It never worked.

She lifted a bottle to her lips and let the stolen cognac burn down her throat. It smelled like vanilla, and tasted like leather and tobacco. It sat heavy in her belly, made her sweat with more than just the sticky summer heat. Hadn't been hard to steal out of the liquor cabinet in the kitchen, the lock was loose and easy to force, but she regretted going for price over preference. 

Ah, well. It wasn't _her_ money, and the cabinet was in a blindspot, anyway. She'd just have to try again another day.

She threw back another swallow and pushed out of the doorway, and out onto the rooftop proper. It was still hot beneath her Chucks, a heat that probably wouldn't fade til September, maybe later.

She looked out over the glittering lights as they stretched out before her, rose all around her. A sea of nameless, faceless people, all looking for something, same as her.

Awful lonely for a place so big and so crowded.

Still, a few moments alone would do her some good.

"That's a mighty _fine_ lookin' bottle you got there, Buckley."

She startled, nearly dropped the bottle in her haste to turn and pinpoint the voice.

And there he fucking was, in all his grimy glory, propped up against the short wall by the fire escape. His shirt was open and unbuttoned, his chest wet with sweat and, by the look of the bottle in his own hand, spilled scotch that probably cost more than her last three paychecks. Legs splayed wide and head tilted back against the rough brick, every inch of him on display. "Looks a little outta your price range, chickie."

Robin hated him.

He was a menace in class, a menace at work, and a menace of a neighbor. He was a braggart and a show off. He was loud and obnoxious, argumentative, _mean_. The kind of man to lead with his jaw, to rip and tear with harsh words and insults--but the kind to follow up with his _fists_ if the opportunity arose.

For all his talk, he never said a damn genuine thing, as far as Robin could tell. She only really knew three concrete things about the mullet that was Billy Hargrove.

First, that he was a smug piece of shit.

Second, that he had the fastest knife skills Robin had ever seen. And he knew it, too.

And third, that he was profoundly fucking _damaged_ , and it made it hard to hate him. She _managed_ , of course. While it was harder to hate him, it certainly wasn't impossible. 

But all the same, they'd had a bit of a truce between them for the last few months, since she'd drawn the short straw and escorted him to the stat care. Since she'd waited with him, waited for him, even made sure he'd made it safely back to his apartment. It wasn't a _friendly_ truce by any means, exactly, but their exchanges had begun to carry a little less heat.

Didn't mean she liked him any more, just that she understood him a little bit better.

She stumbled her way over, head still a little fuzzy from the beers and instant ramen she'd had for dinner, nevermind the cognac she'd begun drinking. She lightly kicked the bottle in his loose grip. "What about you, Hargrove? That's, what, double your rent?"

He blinked up at her, gaze unfocused, before he lifted to bottle toward his face. "Nah," he said, after a moment of inspection, "at least triple."

She rolled her eyes and dropped to sit next to him. No use hiding, no use running, no use _ignoring_ him--he certainly didn't _like_ being ignored. At least there was a whiff of a breeze outside, wasn't as still and stuffy and quiet as her apartment below. She knocked back another gulp, winced at the burn of it. It wasn't as sweet as she liked it, wasn't as smooth. Burned a little like tobacco smoke. "Where'd you sneak The Delmore out of?"

"Blew the kitchen manager," said, nonchalantly and upended another short or three into his mouth-- _and_ down his chest. 

She made a face. He'd said it like he was proud of it, but even if Robin had been into men in any capacity, she'd have balked at the idea. "Chad? _Yuck_. You're a braver man than I, Hargrove."

"Desperate times and all that." 

" _No one_ is that desperate. That man is the Pigpen of Cheeto dust."

He rolled his eyes and swiped a lazy hand across his mouth. He gave her an expectant look, eyebrow raised, "What about you?"

She snorted, "You know you can force the lock with, like, a paperclip, right? Takes like ten seconds and you don't get kitchen scraps on your knees."

At her side, Billy paused to give her a surprised look. "Well, I'll be. Songbird's got a crime streak."

She made a face, and added a number four to her list, one she'd managed to forget: Billy liked nicknames, usually condescending ones.

But she could play that game, too. "So, what's got you up here drownin' your sorrows, Billy Goat?"

"First, _no_. Second--"

"Billy Vanilli?"

"Nope, _no_ \--"

"Billiam, then."

"I hate you."

She gave his knee a gentle, consoling pat. "I know, Silly Billy. I know."

He rolled his eyes, but his lips twitched a little. "Well what are _you_ doin' up here, chickie? Pretty late for a nightcap."

"I got dumped for a sommelier," Robin said. "If you _must_ know."

Billy was silent fot a long moment, before he gently tapped his bottle against Robin's. "A good night to drink away some sorrows, then."

She lifted the cognac toward him in a halfhearted salute, and drank down as much as she could manage without choking and coughing on the burn. Her limbs felt heavy, the heat and drink weighing her down almost as much as the thoughts of _Kat_.

She looked at the man next to her. He looked the way she felt, if a little more shameless about it. Shirt open, knees cocked wide, all loose-limbed and slouched lazily. _God_ , he was gross.

He'd switched his bottle to his left hand at some point, and his right rested on his lap. Even in the dark, she could see the shiny pink scar that stretched across his hand. 

He flinched a little when she reached out and grasped his wrist, but didn't pull away. She lifted his hand to her face, examined the scar in the dim, golden light. It started on the back of his hand, stretched around to his palm, where he'd damn near taken his thumb clean off. It had been a blessedly clean cut, deep though it was. It was a miracle and a half there was no significant damage, that he could still use his hand.

"He got you good, huh?" she asked and gently touched the shiny, pink scar. The hand in hers flinched. "S'it still hurt?"

"Not much anymore," he admitted, slowly. He was frowning, watching her with an unhappy sort of expression. 

"Gettin' stronger?" she asked, thinking back to what the doctor had said. How there was a chance he'd never be able to use his hand the same. Billy obviously hadn't listened. 

"Good as new," he said, tightly, and tugged his hand out of her grasp. "Not gonna hold me back."

She huffed a small laugh. "Never thought it would. Doc said you might not use it again, I figured you'd take that as a challenge."

He frowned at her, the line of his mouth tight and narrow. "Why'd you stay, anyway?"

"No one else was gonna," she said and shrugged. "And I'm pretty sure I was the only one that saw what happened, anyway."

"And what d'you think you saw, huh?" Billy snapped, defensive and angry. He levered himself up and twisted on his knees. He leaned over her, a hand braced on the wall next to her head. He had one of those _mean_ looks on his face, the ones he wore when he wanted to be feared. He was trying to threaten her. It didn't actually scare her much, not anymore. "Go on, chickie. _Tell me_."

Up close, he smelled like summer sweat and citrus, like stale beer and a mountain of cigarettes. His lip was curled in a _leer_ , something meant to look dangerous. He wanted her scared, wanted her to run, wanted her to _stop_ pushing at the issue.

But she'd seen him. Seen his eyes go dead, his posture stiff as a board. She'd seen him _freeze_. Saw him bleed and say _nothing_. The man with a quick wit and a sharp tongue, rendered silent. There was no gasp, no whimper, no sound of pain. He didn't scream or yell or cuss. He didn't do a damn thing. He just _froze_.

He'd gone still and silent. Not much more than a baby deer lit up in freeway headlights. 

It was hard to fear him after that. Hard to look at the man looming over her and feel anything but sadness for him. Maybe a little bit of _disdain_ , but that seemed to be what he wanted from her, anyway, and she wasn't in the mood to give him what he wanted.

When he'd stumbled back through the waiting room, hand bandaged and head swimming with painkillers, he hadn't had time to put up a wall. He'd looked at her and _froze_ , his face open and confused and so damn surprised that it broke Robin's heart just a little. All because she'd waited for him. All because she didn't leave him alone.

"Sit back down before you fall over," she said, and threw back a swig of alcohol. "And stop posturing, I'm not afraid of you, _sunshine_."

"You _should_ be."

She reached up and flicked the tip of his nose, just to watch him startle and go a little cross-eyed. He swatted at her, ineffectually, but fell backward to sit on his ass, legs stretched out beside her own. "I've seen a whole helluva lot scarier than _you_ ," she said, and kicked at his hip. "I'm gonna bet _you_ have, too."

"And what do you know about _that_?" he snapped, but he looked more afraid, in the low light, than angry. 

"Not a damn thing. But I've seen _scared_ before, Hargrove," she said, and poked his ankle where it rested by her hip. "And you were fucking terrified."

He snarled, silently, and looked away from her for a long moment. When he turned back, his brow was pulled low in a frown. "What did you see?"

"I saw a teacher hit a kid," she said, and held his gaze as she took another long drink. It burned, but she refused to show it. He probably saw anyway, he was observant like that. Liked to wiggle his way into cracks and break them open wider. "Saw you flinch and jump so bad you almost took your own hand off. And I saw you too scared to mouth off about it, not the way you usually would."

He grimaced and turned away. "I wasn't _scared_."

"I'm not teasing, I'm not making fun, I'm not gonna hurt you. Might not _understand_ , but I'm not gonna hang you out to dry," Robin said, gently. "I've got nothing to hold over your head, 'cept this nice bottle of cognac that I'm gonna dump down your shirt if you pull anything like that again."

He gave a little laugh, like it was startled out of him, he stared at her with wide eyes. "Well you're just full of surprises, aren't you?"

"Yep. And I've got no patience for dumb, alpha male bullshit like that, Hargrove," she said, and gently kicked at his hip again. "You even _think_ of threatening someone smaller than you like that again, I will _personally_ hunt you down and chop your balls off with a butter knife. And _then_ I will call your sister."

"Now, how--"

"I was there when you called her, dumbass. Remember? When you were out of your damn mind and I was drugged-up-idiot-proofing your apartment?" Robin rolled her eyes, "I swear, men can't handle a little bit of sedative. Can't remember a damn thing."

He huffed a laugh and shook his head at her, clearly amused. "You got some _fire_ , Buckley."

She lifted her bottle in a kind of salute.

He reminded her of Steve, just a little. Had a self-worth so goddamn low that the wrong word from her might crush it underfoot, but Billy just hid it better. And Steve wasn't _angry_ , either. Not anymore. He'd grown out of it, grown brighter with freedom and sadder beneath the weight of expectation; Billy was made of it, shaped by anger and broken glass--though whether by choice or circumstance, she didn't know. Steve was sweet, and he'd only grown moreso once he'd finally freed himself from Hawkins' hold. His edges had softened, where Billy built walls and armaments.

She got the distinct feeling that Billy had crawled out of some sort of hell, much the way she and Steve had, only to end up a little worse for wear. Not that Robin had much ground to stand on, not that she could call herself _well adjusted_ by any stretch of the imagination. But at least she wasn't alone, no matter how far away her family was.

"Why'd you stay, though? _Really_?" he asked, and spun the bottleneck between his hands. He didn't look at her, kept his head low and his gaze lower. "I've been nothing but a dick to you and everyone else--in class, at work, all of it. You didn't have to stay, didn't have to walk me home like you did."

She shrugged. "No one else would have," she said again.

"That's not a reason."

"You _needed_ someone, and I didn't see a whole lot of other volunteers," she said, truthfully.

He glowered at her, "I didn't _need_ anyone. I'd have been _fine._ "

"I had to stop you walking off the train platform like a _dumbass_ ," Robin argued, pointed her bottle at him for good measure. "Like, _twice_. You list to the right when you're fucked up, you know that?"

He grumbled something rude under his breath and tipped back another long sip. Robin hadn't been aware that it was possible to look that angry and _that_ embarrassed all at once, but if anyone was going to surprise her, she figured it would be Hargrove.

"You know, you're not half as gross as you set out to be," she said, studying him through narrowed eyes. "You try real hard, but you're still a _kid_ under all that."

"I'm not a _kid_."

"Bullshit. You sure do act like one." She rolled her eyes and pat the ground next to her, "Come back over here before you fall over."

"I'm _fine_."

"If you were _fine_ I wouldn't have to keep lookin' out for you, would I?" She rolled her eyes, kicked his hip. "I kept you from dying then, didn't I? I'm, like, invested in your well being at this point."

He just glowered at her some more, petulant and childish. She just shrugged and tilted her head back to rest on the edge of the rough, low wall she slouched against. She once thought the muddy orange sky was pretty. It was new and strange and odd and unfamiliar. But then it never quite faded, never changed, sat stagnant overhead in a way that had begun to leave her claustrophobic.

She missed stars.

Billy sat silent and unmoving for a long few moments, only the city sounds below and the shift of liquor as they each continued to drain their bottles. But then she heard the shuffle of fabric and a heaving groan as he moved closer. He slumped back against the wall with a sigh. "My boyfriend dumped me, too."

She nodded, rolled her head over to look at him. "Run of the mill _we're aren't right for each other_ dumping, or was it, like, catastrophic?"

Billy made a face. "Said he needed someone with a _future_ , someone with good _career prospects_. Needed someone with a more _convenient_ schedule for him."

" _Yeesh_. Sounds like a real prick."

"He wasn't."

"Wasn't he?" she challenged, and lifted an eyebrow at him. "No one who says shit like _that_ to their boyfriend just, like, Scooby Doo unmasks themselves as a piece of shit."

"He wasn't a piece of _shit_! He was nice!"

"Uh huh, sure. So, which was bigger?"

"Which _what_?"

"His dick or the red flags?" she asked, and downed another gulp of cognac. The more she drank, the less she tasted it, which was nice. 

At her shoulder, Billy sputtered on a gulp of whiskey, coughed out an annoyed, "There were no flags!"

"Oh my _god_ , are you blind? I bet he was _waving_ a red flag!" She rolled her eyes at him, nudged his shoulder, "Was his dick really _that big_? Just couldn't see over it?"

Billy waved a finger in her face, mouth opened to argue, only to pause. His eyes went a little unfocused, brown a little furrowed, and he silently settled back against the wall. "You may have a point," he said, eventually. "It was a _very_ good dick."

"Big?"

"Very big," Billy agreed, tipping the bottle back from another drink.

"If you stood him in a courtyard in the daylight, could you tell the time?"

He sputtered out a laugh, spilling scotch down his chin. He gave her an amused look and nudged her shoulder, "Tell me about your boy?"

"What boy?"

He blinked at her, visibly confused. "The one that dumped you?"

" _Ahh._ You mean my _girl_ , Kat. She, uh, left me for some stuck up rich boy," Robin said, pleasantly. 

"Kat, like _our_ Kat? Teacher's pet, a lot of ear piercings, Kat?" he asked, incredulous, and she couldn't exactly blame him. " _That_ Kat?"

"That's the one," she grumbled and downed as much liquor as she could stand, until her chest burned and her eyes had a reason to sting.

"Huh." He frowned a little and tipped back the bottle once more. "I didn't realize…"

"Realize what? Oh you mean how you didn't realize we were dating, even though we all spend day in and day out with each other? You mean how she never held my hand in public? How she never told anyone about us?"

"Uh, yeah. That." He frowned at her, "Um, how long were you together?"

"Since Christmas break."

" _Jesus_."

"She said it was _fun while it lasted_." Robin took as big a drink as she could stand, followed Billy's _glistening_ example and let it spill down her chin and stain her shirt. " _She_ said I was an _experiment_. Like we were at summer camp or some shit. Some sorority sleepover, cheap porn premise _bullshit_."

Billy was silent for a few long moments, before the bottle of scotch was thrust into her field of vision. "You need this more than I do, Buckles."

She laughed. She slapped the cognac bottle into his chest, and accepted the trade. The scotch went down _smooth_ , all honey sweet and caramel. At her shoulder, Billy sputtered.

" _Christ_ , do you have a stomach of _iron_?" he groused and made a grab for the scotch again. "Gimme that back."

She held the bottle out of his reach, held him back with a hand against his face. "Nope! We agreed that I deserve the good shit."

"I agreed to nothing," he argued, voice muffled against the palm of her hand. "Give."

"No take backs."

He blew a raspberry into her palm and flailed a little more, only to freeze. He wrenched himself away and fished a vibrating phone out of his pocket, only to groan at whatever he saw on the screen. He dropped his head back against the wall and grumbled, “Fuckin’ asshole dumped me, already sent me home with the _megre_ amount of shit he let me leave at his place, and now he calls.”

And that could be fun. Kat wasn’t gonna call and beg her back, and Robin didn’t exactly have the energy to properly deal if that _did_ happen. But _Billy’s ex_? He was fair game. "You want him back?" 

Billy shook his head, immediately, nose scrunched in disgust. "Nah, not anymore."

"Cool, gimme," she said, and held out her hand, expectantly--then yanked right out of his hold when he didn’t move fast enough for her taste. She tabbed the speaker volume up, and answered with a crisp, professional, "Hello? Am I speaking to a friend of Mr. Hargrove's?"

" _You are,_ " a deep voice said, slowly. He even sounded like a prick, his accent all prim and crisp. " _And this is…?_ "

"Oh, of course, sir, my apologies. This is Dr. Wheeler over here at Mount Sinai," she said and Billy whipped his head around to _stare_ at her with a startled expression.

" _Mount… Did something happen? Is Bill okay?_ "

"You'll have to pardon my asking, but how are you acquainted with Mr. Hargrove, sir?" There was a soft huff of a laugh at her shoulder, Billy still giving her a confused look.

" _How am I--I'm his partner,_ " he said, tone bordering on _entitled_ , and she raised her eyebrows at Billy. He just made a face and shook his head, gestured at her with the nearly-empty bottle in his hand. A negative, then. Perfect. " _What's happened? Is he okay?_ "

She sighed, tried to sound as mournful and consoling as possible. It was hard, drunk as she was, but the man on the other end of the line hadn't seemed to catch on yet. "I'm sorry to be the one to break the news, sir, but Mr. Hargrove passed away earlier this evening. We are currently in the processes contacting his next of kin."

Beside her, Billy sputtered on a mouthful of cognac. His expression turned incredulous and shocked.

" _His next--_ when _? How long ago?_ "

"An ambulance was called to his location at around 1:30 a.m. My chart shows that he expired en route, and was announced dead upon arrival," she said and watched Billy struggle to keep his laughter quiet.

" _Can you tell me the cause of death?_ " he asked, voice a little strangled, and Robin almost felt bad for what she was about to do. _Almost_. " _What--what happened? I saw him just this afternoon. How did he die?_ "

"Of course, sir, please give me a moment to look over my chart here," she said and rustled her shirt, like it would even sound like paper, and it really only served to make Billy stifle a snicker into his shoulder. "Ah, yes, according to our records, it appears that the cause of death was nutting."

At her shoulder, Billy sputtered again and spit cognac down his chest. He stifled a coughing laugh into his elbow and nearly toppled over with the force of it.

There was a pause on the line. " _I'm sorry,_ " he said, slowly," _but, did you say--_ "

"Yes, sir, you heard correctly. According to my records, the official cause of death is listed as, uh, nutting. I'm afraid that he simply nut to death _,_ sir," Robin said, as serious as she could manage. Billy stifled a snort into his hand, his entire body hunched over and shaking with near-silent, wheezing laughter. 

" _He… nut._ "

"Yes, sir. Just nut his brains out."

On the other end of the phone, there was a sigh, long suffering and annoyed and Robin _relished_ in the tangible frustration. " _Put Bill on the phone, please._ "

"Sir, I'm afraid the deceased can't speak," Robin said, serious and calm, though she had to grip Billy's arm for support. "If you like, I can put you in touch with one of our grief counselors. They're well-versed in dealing with all kinds of nut-related deaths."

“ _Jesus fucking christ._ ”

“I understand completely, sir. We lose a lot of good men this time of year,” she said, as sincere as she could, just to watch Billy squirm as he desperately tried not to make a sound. He tried to keep his giggles muffled in his hands, but it wasn’t really working. His pitched, wheezing laughs were only getting louder. “We see far too many nutting injuries during the summer months.”

" _Put Bill on, right_ now _. Is he there? He's there, I can hear him snickering,_ " There was shuffling, a few moments of angry muttering, the slam of a door. " _God_ damn it _, put Bill on the phone._ "

"Sir, I'm afraid the deceased can't come to the phone right now," Robin said, as stern as she could manage, eyes watering with the effort to keep from breaking. "He just nut too hard, sir."

And Billy _lost it_ , threw his head back and _cackled_. He tipped right the hell over again and everything, clutching at his belly and kicking his feet.

It was funny, watching him lose it like that. He didn't tend to, not usually. If he laughed, it was at someone else's expense. He never really let his guard down enough to fall apart.

She kinda liked it. One more bit of proof that Billy was a human being, and not the big, bad boogeyman he seemed to want to be.

He pushed himself up and over to slump into her shoulder, still giggling. "Oh my _god_ , that was amazing. You're _amazing_."

"Too true, too true." She nodded, dropped the phone into his lap where it immediately lit up with text messages. "Do yourself a favor and don't answer. He sounded like a prick."

"Can you reprise the role of Dr. Wheeler if he stops by the restaurant?"

"I am more than willing to defend your honor again," she agreed, without hesitation. She looked forward to watching the man's face go red in real time.

Billy slung an arm around her shoulders and tucked her close to his side. "Thank you."

"Don't mention it," she said, and immediately pushed away from the cigarette butt she was set next to. It was far too hot to touch him _that_ much.

He laughed and let her go. "Look at the two'a us. Couple'a sad sacks, drinkin' away our heartache," he muttered and slumped against her shoulder anyway, despite the persistent heat. "You wanna get out of here?" he asked, eyes narrowed and head tilted toward the rooftop doorway. "I think we could both use a refill and a rebound."

And she knew what he meant, what he wanted. There was a bar close, one that never seemed to close and had the prettiest goddamn bartender Robin had seen since the lifeguard she'd spent half of high school fantasizing about. But it was so, so easy to slip back into character. Just because she didn't _hate_ him anymore, didn't mean she wouldn't take the opportunity to give him shit. 

She gently placed a hand on Billy's forearm, feigned a sad sort of look, "Oh, Billy, honey. No."

He stared at her with another look of confusion, then rolled his eyes. "That's not what I meant, and you know it. There's--"

"I like you, I do, but we just aren't compatible."

"Damn it, Buckley--"

"It would never work between us," she said, as deadly serious as she could manage, though she could feel her lips trembling. "I don't like dick, you _are_ a dick. It's doomed from the start."

Billy snorted and shoved her shoulder, "Jesus, shut _up_!"

"No, _no_ , baby, I know your heart is breaking right now. But, we just aren't meant to be," she grabbed at his hand, clutched it to her chest, gave him the most heartfelt look she could muster. "We--we're meant only to be as two ships passing."

He was laughing, nose scrunched and eyes squeezed shut, fingertips pinching the bridge of his nose.

"I-I don't know how to tell you this..."

He snorted, "Oh, _this_ will be good."

"But, Billy, I'm a lesbian."

He called again, one of those dumb, wheezing laughs that seemed to only ever get startled out of him. "Th-there's a fuckin' _bar_ a couple blocks down," Billy said, still chuckling. " _Dumbass._ "

"You blew _Chad_ ," Robin argued. "That man can't keep a secret. You'll be lucky if you have a _job_ in the morning, and you wanna go out?"

Billy waved a hand, dismissively. "That's a problem for Sober Billy."

"Sober Billy needs to get his priorities in order."

"I've heard that before," he said, and shrugged. He cast her a dazzling smile, "So what brings you to the big city, Buckley?"

"Same as you, I'd bet," she shrugged. "Following some dreams and shit."

"Learning how to be a line cook your dream?"

She scoffed and rolled her eyes. "It's isn't _yours_?"

Billy leaned forward, arms folding atop his bent knees. "I never really had, like, _dreams_ , you know? Never looked at the future and--and _saw one_ ," he said, his voice gone soft and quiet. He chewed on his lip for a moment, his thick brows furrowed. "Didn't think I'd survive this long.

"I know it's not the same as yours, but I didn't think I'd make it here," she said and knocked her bottle against his knee. "Didn't think I'd get out of my hometown."

"Small?"

" _Small._ Could fit it inside this block, probably."

"Bet that was _nice_. The smell of homophobia," he said, wistfully. 

"So goddamn much _corn_."

"Mountains of cow shit."

"Cousins," she said, and swung an arm out in a wide arc. "Just cousins, as far as the eye can see."

He snorted on a laugh. "I feel for you, I really do. Never lived anywhere but big cities, can't imagine the hell of a tiny gene pool."

"I'm not remotely surprised. Lemme guess, you're a Florida boy."

He made a face, "Excuse you, I am from _California_."

"You can't blame me for the mistake," Robin reasoned. "Your tan's faded and you've got strong Posh Swamp King vibes."

"I do _not_."

"Eh, if you're sure." 

"I am a beach babe, thank you," Billy snipped, and turned his nose up. "I am _sunkissed_ , not _tan._ "

She gave his shoulder a consoling pat. "Of course you do, honey."

"Well what about _you_ , princess? Bet you're from fuckin' Ohio, or some shit," Billy grumbled. "Or _Iowa_. Not a damn good thing comes out of Iowa."

"I am from _Indiana_ , thank you very much!"

"Nothing good comes outta there, either."

"Pardon me, but _I came from Indiana_ ," she grumbled, poking at his shoulder for emphasis. "They had at least _one_ good export."

Billy huffed a little bit of a laugh, "Yeah, you're right about that one. How'd you find your way here? M'sure there are…" He frowned a little, " _Are_ there Indiana cities big enough to have culinary schools?"

"Oh, fuck you," she grumbled, but a laugh bubbled out of her before she could think to stop it. "How'd _you_ get out here? California not enough for you?"

"Went to school out here."

She stared at him for a long moment. "I don't know how to tell you this," she said, slowly, "but _no shit_."

He barked out a laugh. "No, I mean--I went to Boston first, got a business degree," he said, then shrugged. "Couldn't think of any business I wanted anything to do with, and my st--my sister suggested this. A restaurant, maybe."

"And you didn't _hate_ the idea, huh?"

"No, actually. Surprisingly. I mean, I'm good at it. Cookin' and shit. This was the next logical step, I just…"

"Didn't think you'd make it this far," she surmised.

"Yeah, that," he murmured, and took another long drink. "What about you? What made you choose food school?"

"I had this, like, _real_ shitty job the summer before my senior year," she said, because she might as well return what she was getting. Sober Billy didn't have any more sense than Drunk Billy, but at least Drunk Billy could hold a conversation. "Slingin' ice cream at the mall."

Billy grimaced, "And the fact you aren't in jail for murder puts you in line for _sainthood_."

"It's been said before," she agreed, and raised her bottle in a toast. "S'how I met my best friend, though. Kinda like you, big fish. Bit of a bully, bit of a dick."

" _Hey,_ I take offense."

"You said it yourself, like, awhile ago."

"Yeah, but that was _me_ sayin' it, not _you_."

"Whatever. S'how I met Steve," she said. "We went through some shit, _bonded_ and all that."

"S'cute. Kinda gross, but cute."

"I could say the same about _you_ ," she shot back, and Billy pressed a hand to his chest in mock offense. "Anyway, time for college came around and he got himself off to law school and I went and got myself a business degree, kinda like you, and then… just didn't know what to do with it."

"How'd you decide on this, then?"

"Got bullied into it."

Billy snorted, "Bull. I don't believe you can get bullied into anything."

"He played to my weaknesses."

"Which are…?"

"We were reminiscing and shit. All I said was that I could make a better ice cream, and that _asshole_ looked me in the eye and said _so do it_ ," Robin grumbled, and Billy chuckled at her side. "So, here I am."

He lifted his bottle toward her, "Here you are, indeed."

"Here _we_ are." She knocked her bottle against his, "S'it everything you expected it t'be?"

"I kind of expected… more."

She rolled her head over to look at him. "More what?"

"Of culinary school, I mean," he muttered, eyes tilted toward the sky. "I kinda expected t'learn more than shit I already know."

"Me, too. I guess I thought it'd be like art school, or somethin'? Gettin' t'like… _create_ shit. Not just follow directions."

He pointed the bottle at her, “Exactly! Waste'a fuckin' money if you ask me. Like, I had kitchen jobs back in Boston. I already know this shit."

She thought back to shitty kitchen jobs back in Chicago. Working the fryer late at night while Steve took up space in a booth, with his homework, and waited for her shift to be up. It had been hell _then_ , and she had been paid better there than they did in New York kitchens.

“You ever just think about running away?”

Billy shrugged. “I _did_. S’how I ended up in Boston.”

"Sometimes I think I wanna, like, run away to France or some shit," she muttered. "Do that whole _backpacking across Europe_ thing that everyone does. Stumble into kitchen jobs, learn from masters, break some hearts. All that romantic jazz in movies and shit. Eat, Pray Love and what the fuck not."

He titled his head, but still didn't look over at her. "You think you're gonna open your own place one day? Sling _fancy_ ice cream? Or, like--I mean, you’re always good at the pastry stuff. Gonna open a bakery?"

"That's the dream, isn't it?"

He paused and thought about it a moment, then nodded. "Yeah, I guess it is."

“Step one, be good at a thing,” she said with a nod. “Step two--”

 _Profit_ ,” Billy said, and knocked his bottle against hers with a little more force than needed. If they kept that up, it wouldn’t be long before one or both of them got shattered.

“What about you, Bills? What kinda restaurant’re you gonna open?”

He snorted and shook his head a little. “No fuckin’ idea. Somethin’ _great_ , whatever it is. Like, not… m’obviously not gonna, like, open some kind of basic American shit, you know? Not gonna, like, just be generic shit _but with a twist_ ,” he exclaimed, and waggled his halfhearted jazzhands a little for emphasis. “It’s gonna be something _new_.”

"Like that watermelon soup shit you made the other month, when no one was looking," Robin said, and rolled her eyes. She'd snuck a bowl when he wasn't paying attention and she was _still_ thinking about it weeks later. Tart with pickled rind, all bitter and spicy. It had been fantastic.

"It looks like _someone_ was looking," Billy said, teasing and amused. "But what about you, huh? Caught you doin' some wild shit with those key lime tarts last week."

She narrowed her eyes at him and huffed. "I _knew_ a couple got stolen," she grumbled.

"So fuckin' good," he breathed, pat his stomach at the memory. "Imagine the shit the two'a us could do if we opened a place."

"We'd go to jail for murder in, like, a week."

"Well, _maybe_ , but we'd do something fuckin' _wild_ before it went to hell," he said, wistfully, and raised his bottle for another drink. And then he dropped it again with a thoughtful look. "Well, now there's a thought."

"What's a thought?"

"You an' me."

"Do you have a _deathwish_?" She snorted and rolled her eyes.

"If we shared a place," Billy ignored her, and sat forward once more, bottle flailing a little dangerously as he gestured wildly. "Like, one of those shitty roach motels downstairs. Saved up all we could for, like, a year. Picked up every shitty dishwasher and bartending job we could find... How much d'you think we'd need to get to Paris?"

“I mean, like, a couple hundred a ticket? But that’s just the ticket, that’s not including, like, housing and _food_ and all that basic shit needed to survive.”

"So I got some big stuff I can _sell_ ," he began, lips pushed out in a pout as he thought and planned and schemed his way around the problem. "Couple thousand, _at least_ . That'd give us a nice cushion for awhile. Or maybe we hit Italy, or somethin'. Somewhere far the fuck away from _here_ , wherever that is."

"And, what? What's the game, Hargrove?" she asked, at all loss. "What's even the-- _why_ would we just up and _actually_ run away to Europe?"

He shrugged. "You've got a point, right? We're gonna learn the exact same shit out _there_ that we're payin' out the ass to learn _here_ ," he said, tone all reasonable. "So, what if we just… left? Didn't _wait_ ? We got, what, another year of classes? I dunno about _you_ , Buckles, but I already know how to julienne a fuckin' carrot."

"But we can't just--just _drop out_."

"We _can_. Gimme a list of all the chefs you, like, idolize, and tell me how many of them completed this shit," Billy argued, pointing the bottle at her for emphasis. "We drop _now_ , then we got a whole year of savin' money, 'stead of just spendin' it."

"Next semester is already paid up," she argued, and threw her hands in the air. "I can't just--just cut and run!"

"Fine, we stay 'til Christmas," Billy said, sounded all reasonable about it and everything. "But if we don't start gettin' somethin' worthwhile outta all this shit, we walk. Fair?"

"Th-that--that's _huge_ , Billy! That's fuckin' _France_ you're talkin' about," she said, knowing full well he'd already won. "That's a _world_ away, and I don't even speak French! I--I speak midwest, high school sophomore levels of Spanish at best!"

"Well, you're fuckin' _lucky_ that romance languages are all so fuckin' similar then!" Billy said, and threw his hands in the air. "Books are fuckin' cheap. You buy French, I'll buy Italian, and we'll fuckin' _learn_!"

" _Why_?!"

Billy had the audacity to _shrug_. Like he wasn't asking her to upend her entire life on a moment's notice. "I like you. You're--you remind me of my sister, a little. You're fun, I guess. You just told my ex that I fuckin' _nut_ to death, for christ's sake!" He laughed, before his expression softened out. "You fuckin' _stayed_ "

"This is comin’ outta _nowhere_! We've been friends for only, like, _twenty minutes_."

"Fucking _and_? All'm sayin' is there's worse people to get lost with." His brow was furrowed, pulled low over his eyes. He looked _small_ , like a kid waiting to be admonished. They were both _kids_. But it seemed like they were both survivors, too. And kids did stupid shit all the time, Robin was proof enough of that. "We got out, right? We made it _here_. So what's to stop us from goin' even further?"

The problem was, he sounded so certain. So sincere about it all that it was going to work on her, no matter how ridiculous it all sounded.

She looked up at the big, muddy sky. Saw planes glittering like shooting stars.

It was nearing three in the morning, she had a stolen bottle of scotch in her hand and another bully-with-a-heart-of-gold at her shoulder. She was still drunk, but she could feel a hangover already beginning to brew.

She was sweaty and gross, in desperate need of a long shower and a good night's sleep. Not that Billy was any better, not smelling like an ashtray someone had poured beer on. His hair was frizzy, split ends stringy with sweat and grime. 

She rolled her head along the wall and looked at him. He was slouched next to her still, but he was watching the sky, too. She wondered what it looked like to him.

And then she sighed in defeat. "Lease is up in September."

Billy _whooped_ , shook his fist in the air like a moron. He even went for a celebratory drink, only to find the cognac bottle empty. " _Figures_ ," he muttered, and tossed the thing over his shoulder with one hand and tugged the scotch out of her loose grip with the other. "Don't re-sign. My rent is cheaper and it ends in March. We'll just… we'll sign a six month lease, leave next September."

"This is fuckin' so _stupid_ ,” she groused. “We shouldn’t do this.”

"Well, yeah. Of course we _shouldn't_ ," Billy shrugged and took a drink. He offered the bottle back with all the drunken gravitas of a deal well made. "But've you got a better idea?"

And she didn't. She was elbow deep in the only plan she'd made, and it wasn't even paying off the way she'd hoped. New York was _big_ , and it was lonely, and she was getting more than a little restless anyway.

She had a bad habit of getting swept up by dumbasses, getting dragged along on adventures she never wanted and wasn't prepared for. She got _Steve_ the first time. Got the kids, though they could barely be called that anymore. Eventually got Nancy and Jon and Barb and Joyce and Hopper and--it was worth it, the weird little family she'd ended up with. She'd gone through hell and come out on top.

And now, she guessed, she kind of had Billy, too.

And all Billy wanted to do was run.

"You know what?" She grabbed the bottle from his hand and took a long drink, savored the last dregs of scotch as she emptied the bottle--and tried not to think about words like _backwash_. "I'm in."

She tossed the bottle over her shoulder, listened to it shatter in the alley below. Listened to Billy cackle at her shoulder, a joyful sound where she was long-used to smug derision. Listened to him make plans she wouldn't have agreed to even _an hour_ before. But he was grinning at her, bright enough it split his face and scrunched his nose and cut deep crinkles into the corners of his eyes. He looked younger, not the heavy sort of _weary_ he wore when he thought no one was looking.

It was a terrible fucking plan.

But, if she were honest, she’d done more with less.

**Author's Note:**

> <3


End file.
